


already this far

by Feather (lalaietha)



Series: (even if i could) make a deal with god [your blue-eyed boys related short-fic] [122]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky being totally unaware of his massive psychological progress, Childhood Adventures, Everyone is friends, Other, Steve being well aware of Bucky's massive psychological progress, happy fic, remembering WWII, sharing stories, the Avengers as a functional social-emotional unit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7923682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/pseuds/Feather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nope," Tony crows. "Nooo, no-no-no, nope, <i>you</i>," and he jabs a finger lightly at Steve, "are splitting hairs. You only split hairs when you know it's the only way you're going to win, which means you're totally going to lose. So." His arm now settled around Pepper's waist and the other on the arm-chair arm, he leans forward and says, "How many crimes <i>did</i> you commit?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	already this far

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of [**this series**](http://archiveofourown.org/series/132585), which is for short-fic associated with my fic [**your blue-eyed boys**](http://archiveofourown.org/series/107477), because I needed somewhere to stash it.
> 
> Reminder that canon for this fic still stops at _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. (Which includes ignoring backstory details not revealed up to that point, mind.)

Some things get easier. Some things don't. 

Social stuff stays tricky, and it stays something Steve has to keep alert with. Like tonight: Steve's pretty sure Bucky's running the edge of this being Too Much/Too Loud/Too Many People, but so far it's _only_ the edge, and that means that on balance, cutting everything short _yet_ is still weighted hard on the negative side. And that'd be fine, except for how fast the edge can disappear into "halfway down the pit", so it also means Steve's keeping alert for a natural ebb, the moment he can find a reason for them to call it a night and head back up to their floor without it being about Bucky getting too tired. 

While trying not to be obvious about keeping alert for the natural ebb. Because nothing'll turn Bucky towards self-recrimination faster. 

Steve gets it. Bucky always liked people. Bucky honestly _still_ likes people, still _likes_ being around them, it's just . . . maybe like loving something you're pretty damned allergic to. Except if it were an allergy he'd just resent the allergy, instead of feeling like he's got some kind of huge moral flaw or something, on top of it. But that gets well into "exactly how _many_ ground-in, carved-in messed up ways of looking at the world can anyone be expected to handle _at one time_ , especially when you're starting with things like 'having the right to get a damn glass of water when you're thirsty'" so while it's still frustrating and not great, and Steve'll still point out the flaw if it comes up, it's not something that's high on the list of systematic attack.

(It's amazing how much this kind of thing can be like planning a military campaign, if by amazing, Steve means upsetting. And he does.) 

They're on Bruce and Elizabeth's floor, and technically the excuse-oh-wait-occasion is Bruce publishing a paper on something about qualities of radiant energy that Steve has sincerely tried to understand, twice, and hasn't got there yet. It really is an excuse, in that Bruce (and Elizabeth and Jane and, slightly to Steve's surprise although it shouldn't've been and he knows that, Tony) publish pretty regularly, but none of them actually care. 

Technically, there's no reason for Bruce and Elizabeth's living-room not to have enough seating for everyone to have an arm-chair or couch. That'd make for a few more pieces of furniture than you'd normally want hanging around, but their floor is as big as anyone else's and they could do what Clint does, or what Tony does, or what happened with Steve and Bucky's floor just coincidentally (because of Tony filling it with furniture before Steve even saw it), which is have scattered armchairs and chaises and stuff in other rooms, or odd but decorative corners. It's not like even a heavy piece of furniture is going to be a problem when it comes to dragging it over to cluster with the normal living-room seats. After all, if more's needed, then by _definition_ at least Steve or Thor is going to be there. 

Somehow it never quite happens, though: somehow Bruce and Elizabeth's living-room just keeps having the kind of setup you'd expect in a house that was actually a bit smaller than their floor, without a lot of extra stuff around, and somehow Steve also kinda likes it. And since nobody else's done or said anything about it, he has to figure they do, too. 

There's probably something really psychologically interesting going on with that, or maybe sociologically, or something, but Steve's gonna leave that to Sam, if he's interested. His field, after all. 

There's a couch, a love-seat and an arm-chair with an ottoman and then dining-table chairs with padded seats and backs. Who ends up where depends on who's there, but today the room's pretty full. The couch is a long one and it more or less comfortably fits Maria, Sam, Tasha and Clint, with Elizabeth curled up against Bruce's side on the love-seat. Tony'd dramatically claimed the arm-chair and then pulled Pepper over to sit sort of on his lap, sort of beside him (it's also a big arm-chair), over her mild and not-really-convincing protests that this was ridiculous. 

Jane had dragged Thor over to sit with her on the floor in front of the couch, provoking a sour comment from Bruce about young people and ligaments. Darcy perched on the sideboard, after checking with Elizabeth that it wasn't going to "like, totally collapse under my egregious weight, or anything", because (as far as Steve can tell) given the choice between the floor, a boring dining-room chair, losing the fight for an actual piece of seating-intended furniture, and being special and quirky - and drawing attention to it, just to top it off - she'll go for the latter every time. 

He'd've given her the ottoman, actually, which is where he ends up sitting, but Darcy seems to work on some kind of subconscious age-hierarchy when it comes to this stuff, and as the youngest person she's the last to get a real chair. Steve figures if she really wants to assert her bohemian nature by sitting on furniture that's not meant to be sat on, he's not going to ruin it for her. 

Bucky'd very deliberately got one of the dining chairs, dragged it over and turned it around, straddling the back and leaning against it. Abrikoska alternates between sitting on his shoulders, and padding over to tentatively bother Ringo. 

It's the third time the kitten's come down, after the day Elizabeth breezily suggested that they should see, "for future reference", if the cats could get along. When Steve asked she'd skated over reasons like maybe if she needed cat-sitting, "or whatever"; he didn't press, and neither did Bucky, but Bucky had given her the look that always makes Steve think of the picture of the weird windows on a house-roof that look like narrowed eyes, with the caption _I see what you did there_. Elizabeth had done a really good job of pretending she didn't see what he did there, at all. 

Steve'd looked up stuff on how you're supposed to introduce cats, but Elizabeth said that while normally she'd totally go with the slow, two-sides-of-door, all that stuff, Ringo was so relaxed about other cats that since Abrikoska's reaction to being panicked really was to just try to hide in Bucky's clothing or up on his shoulder, it wouldn't be needed. Steve'd been dubious, but Bucky'd shrugged and said he'd take her word for it, so Steve'd just hoped it wouldn't go wrong. 

It'd turned out to be the definition of anti-climax. Ringo'd come over to the couch where Bucky was with Abrikoska on his shoulder, sat back, sniffed in their direction for a couple seconds, and then jumped down onto the floor to roll over onto his side and start washing his paw and then his face. He'd continued to be on his side, washing his paw and his face and his chest, all the way through the six or seven times the kitten'd hesitantly climbed down, sniffed at him, scared herself and run back to hide in Bucky's hood or try to crawl into his pocket. 

Eventually Abrikoska'd managed not to panic long enough for them to sniff noses. Then Ringo'd gotten up and gone to eat kibble. 

(According to Elizabeth it wasn't that Ringo was an inherently placid or tame cat, as such. There were a few things, like phones and the vet, that he got outright cranky about, and if anyone other than Elizabeth tried to clip his claws or brush him - including a vet - he'd give them a bite that sent them to the ER. He just _only_ got cranky about the things that annoyed him, and otherwise just . . . didn't care. And wasn't afraid of anything, which meant - she said - that he didn't have to show off.) 

( _He's basically a cat version of Bruce,_ Tony'd said, blithely. _She got him as a surrogate._ Elizabeth had mimed smacking him with a tablet she had in her hands.) 

Steve gets the vague impression Ringo thinks Abrikoska needs to calm down about the whole world in general, and he also can't say the other cat's wrong. Right now she's sort of alternating between playing with Ringo's tail and being sure Ringo's going to eat her for playing with his tail, and Ringo - who seems totally happy for her to dart at his tail, and twitches it at her and then stops when she freaks out - kinda looks to Steve like if life were a comic, Ringo's thought-bubble would say, "Sigh." Occasionally the bigger cat bats very gently at the kitten's head and knocks her over. 

And it's because of keeping an eye on that, Steve decides, and keeping an eye on that natural lull, that mean he doesn't notice where the conversation's going until it's too late. 

Well there's that, and there's also how it starts by being about Tony, and how (according to Tony, so Steve takes that for what it is) urban legends about how much stuff he wrecked as a kid and when he went to college are totally exaggerated. Especially the latter, even though he does spend some time insisting on detailing how he never got arrested, as such, and definitely never charged at all, for the stuff when he was a kid (mostly trespassing, but only mostly) so it wasn't a big deal really.

"And I burned down one utility shed at MIT," Tony says, holding up an index finger. " _One_. And honestly you can't even say that I burned it down _as such_ because that thing was basically a death-trap in terms of fire-safety, really wasn't to code _at all_ and frankly they were lucky I _was_ only fifteen and didn't weigh much and was pretty athletic and I could climb up the damn particle-board bookshelves and crawl out the window." 

"You mean you were lucky," Maria says, and Tony waves that away. 

"Well yeah, but I wouldn't've been the one around to deal with how much shit they'd've been in afterwards," he says, dismissively, "they would. Dad would've shit a brick. And then found a way to make everyone else on earth shit bricks. _And then_ destroyed MIT from the ground up and from the top down. Dad lacked a sense of proportion. Anyway I was working in there with permission on a fully authorized project _for a class_ and do not give me that dubious look Hill I will damn well call Rhodey right now, on this phone - " and then he has to stop as he realizes his phone isn't in his shirt pocket because he doesn't have a shirt pocket, because he's wearing one of his band t-shirts. He frowns at his pants pockets and then gives Pepper a questioning look. 

"I have no idea where your phone is," she replies, calmly examining her nails like she's making a point. "It's not my job to know where your phone is anymore." 

" - okay so I will get JARVIS to call Rhodey, right now, on _that_ phone," Tony resumes, waving one hand towards the general ceiling, "and he will actually confirm this. And I am deeply hurt by your scepticism." 

"You'll live," Maria retorts. "Tell it to someone who didn't used to have to clean up your messes _for no overtime._ " And at that Clint snickers, Natasha grins, and even Steve has to cough to cover the laugh. It's not that it makes that much difference in practical terms, but Steve knows Maria gets a lot of psychological satisfaction that now, at least, when Tony Stark makes her job more difficult, she can actually rack up overtime and considerations on her salary. And send him nasty memos. She couldn't do that via SHIELD, either. 

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you were perfect your whole damn school career," Tony says, slightly snidely. Pepper rolls her eyes and musses up his hair, which he barely bothers to dodge. "Miss Perfect Hill, valedictorian, Principal's Award, whatever." 

At that, though, Sam starts laughing, and Maria grimaces the good-natured self-amused grimace of someone who knows she just walked into it and might as well accept the consequences upfront, because it'll be better than trying to dodge them. "Actually . . . " she sighs. "I was valedictorian. And I did win the Principal's Award. So." 

"No, no," says Sam, waving his beer-bottle in the general direction of the room, "tell them about the binders." He grins at her and then sort-of-blocks when she goes to playfully punch his shoulder. "She and her friends had colour-coordinated binders," he says, pointing at her, "with a matching system for highlighters. And coloured tabs and post-its." 

Maria attempts to look aloof. It doesn't work very well. "I was just ambitious, disciplined and dedicated," she says, also trying for dignified, and failing. She's also not meeting anyone'e eye, exactly. "I wanted to be the best I could be." 

"Which was apparently Hermione Granger," Tony says, grinning, and Maria pointedly ignores him. 

"Nah," says Clint, also grinning. And Steve's eyebrows go up, because now Maria turns on him like she might be about to lunge at his throat. "She wasn't just an overachiever," Clint goes on solemnly, "she was a tattle-tale. She totally sank the plan to spike the punch at prom. With _wine_. Which barely counts as spiking." 

Maria's light punch at Sam had been playful, but what Clint's now fending off look like serious attempts to give him a a serious charlie horse,, bone bruise, or maybe actually break his leg. He's grinning though, and in the end she stops with the growl of, "Traitor." 

"You didn't have friends in high-school, did you," Tony asks, gravely. Maria folds her arms. 

"I had friends!" she retorts. "We've already established I had friends! We had matching binders! And a highlighter system!" Sam's laughing and she jabs him in the arm. "This is your fault," she says, and he gives her the _look how could I not_ shrug. 

Natasha's got her grin-that-isn't-a-grin, and pushes herself up off the couch and hops over the back, heading for the fridge. Maria adds, "Grab me one of those too," in a sour and put upon voice. It's a bit overdone, but Steve figures that's fine: she does seem to have a lot more fun these days. 

Tasha gives her an Innocent look, which is really a lot different from an actually innocent one. "Is that allowed?" and Maria sits up and turns around to stare at her. The betrayed look is overacted, but really expressive. 

"Et tu Natalia?" she demands. Tasha grins. "Yes it damn well is," Maria goes on, "I'm over twenty-one and I'm in a private residence so will you just get me a damn beer already?" 

Clint's still grinning at her and by striking right then she does manage to punch him in the leg. "Asshole," she mutters. She flips her hair over her shoulder. "At least I don't have a juvie record as long as my own arm." 

"Neither do I," Clint says blandly. "Never got picked up for anything."

"Okay let me rephrase that," Maria retorts, caustic, "at least I _shouldn't_ have one as long as my arm." 

"Hey, neither do I," Sam replies. "And that's legit. I only got a couple speeding tickets. Still not sure I buy you not having one as legit," he says to Tony, holding up a hand to forestall him. "So I'm not sure you don't get to sit over there with Barton, I'm just sayin'." 

"Hey at no point did I technically break the law," Tony protests, and Sam snorts and gives him the You Are Full Of Crap look that not even Tony argues with that much. Steve wonders if somehow Sam's managing to tap into Rhodes' "do not give me that crap" look in a way none of the rest of them have figured out how to yet. 

"Yeah, according to your dad's lawyers and the judges they convinced," Sam tells him. "All things considered, especially the part where we're not just talking stupidly rich and influential but also a national hero and secret co-director of SHIELD, that does _not_ mean much, Stark, I'm sorry." 

"He has a point," Pepper informs Tony, and he mock glares at her and pokes her gently in the knee. 

"You just shut up, you were almost as bad a little Miss Goody-two-shoes as Hill," he replies. 

"Damn right I was," Pepper agrees. She still has her fingers moving through his hair from when she messed it up. "Right up until college." 

Jane suddenly perks up and looks interested. "What happened in college?" she asks. 

"She can't tell you," Tony replies before Pepper can, with a slightly snide-and-resentful note to his voice. "Because sororities keep secrets and aren't any fun."

"That is a grossly misleading statement," Pepper tells him, tapping him on the nose. "Mostly underaged drinking," she goes on, to Jane. "Nothing that interesting, to be honest, and nothing that was morally wrong. I mean yes, sororities have secrets you have to promise to keep but honestly it's like a giant secret insiders-club. You end up feeling included and connected to a whole history of other women and that's nice. And you'd completely lose it if you didn't take it seriously. That's pretty much it." 

Jane nods. "I was the definition of boring," she offers. "I went to like one house-party. I wasn't even part of the overenthusiastic sex circles, which were actually kind of a pain because half the time somebody's date screwed with meeting up to work on joint projects and labs and yes, okay, I get it _most_ people would always rather get laid than finish a lab, but - "

Thor is grinning now, and kisses her on the head. Jane looks guilty and defensive. "I have _only done that once_ and it was _really important_ , okay - " 

Sam says, "Weren't you in astrophysics, though? Like - " and he glances at Maria for some kind of support in his confusion, and then at Steve, and yeah Steve has to admit . . . 

Elizabeth puts a surprisingly weary hand on her forehead. "Stereotypes aside," she says, sighing, " _trust me_ the science students are having more and weirder sex than anyone else on campus except _possibly_ some of the arts kids." 

"And honestly rehearsals mean a lot of the time they're too tired," Bruce puts in. "And their teachers actually try to get them to stop - " 

"Actively," Elizabeth adds. 

" - because in-department relationships always end up exploding and making everybody's life difficult." 

"Not _always_ ," Elizabeth objects, glancing at him with a frown, and Steve thinks she's objecting because of her and Bruce until he frowns thoughtfully. 

"Okay, granted," he agrees, "Maude and Helen are still doing fine." 

Sam gives them a questioning look, pointing back and forth between them, and Steve kinda agrees. Bruce shakes his head. "Physics," he says, and Elizabeth says, "Cellular biology. Different circles." 

"Basically," Tony says, and now he's amused but it's got less of the edge that means he's trying to give people shit, "you take a whole bunch of horny seventeen-to-something-or-others, and a lot of them had trouble dating or hooking up before, you dump'em in close proximity and constant contact, and you're constantly working to train them to try something and see how it works and then try something else to see if it works better. Which actually ends up with sex being a lot more fun than most of what you get with the cool kids in the cool houses." 

"God, I can believe that," Pepper says, with a kind of thoughtful, looking-back look. 

"You really _really_ should," Darcy adds, from her sideboard, and most of everyone bursts into laughter. "Look, I did not break up with Ian over the sex," Darcy adds, irrepressibly, "just let me say that, okay?" 

Jane covers her face in a way that says _things I did not need to know!_ and goes on, " _Anyway,_ " and then lets her hands drop, "my point is, I was that boring, I think I went to like one party and it was for an anime club." She points at Thor. "But hey. Technically he's probably the worst of any of us? But his were all state-sanctioned so it doesn't count." 

Elizabeth bursts out laughing, and Steve grins as Thor looks sheepish. "That . . . is more or less accurate," he admits. "I sincerely doubt anyone else here levelled a city before the equivalent of university-age, but _to be fair_ , they did attack us first and I got permission for that one. Well, up until the last mess," he adds, holding up the hand holding his drink and heading Tony off because it's obvious that he's honed in on the words _that one_ , "I did get permission for all of them." 

"How many times was the permission retroactive?" Bruce asks, and Thor coughs over his beer-bottle, leaning his head towards Jane. 

"What was the, the thing, the law-code about self-incrimination - ?" he asks her, and she pats his knee. 

"Fifth Amendment," she tells him. 

"That," Thor says, with feeling, gesturing at her. "I plead that." And then in an absolutely blatant change-of-subject he looks at Elizabeth and Bruce with an unbelievably curious face and says, "You?" 

They look at each other, and Bruce shrugs, and Elizabeth shrugs, and then she says, "We signed up to be subjects in some LSD trials?I mean," she adds, "internally I became the most rebellious child in the entire world, but none of the ways I did that would've been impressive to anyone else." 

"She participated in a peace rally once," Bruce says. 

"I felt like I'd robbed a bank," Elizabeth confirms. "And also like I might drop dead from filial impiety." 

Clint sits up to put his empty beer aside and says, thoughtfully, "Well, nobody wants to know what Tasha did as a kid, because it's depressing, and also creepy - " 

Maria lightly smacks his arm, and he interrupts himself to say, "What? It's true," and Tasha shrugs and murmurs, _he's not wrong_. Clint goes on, "Ross, Banner, Pepper and Sam are boring, Hill and Jane are teacher's pets, Tony was just . . . " he waves one hand, and Tony gives an ironic half-bow, "special, like always - " 

" - you were a juvenile delinquent," Maria inserts, firmly, and Clint acknowledges it with a shrug.

"So!" Tony jumps in, before Clint can get started again. "That leaves the world's deadliest senior citizens!"

There's a cry of protest from the side-board, Darcy demanding, "Hey! What am I?" 

"Chopped liver," Clint tells her, cheerfully, and she rolls her eyes at him. 

"Not old enough to be part of the sample," Elizabeth provides, "because if you're already looking back at high-school and undergrad with nostalgia something's gone horribly wrong with your life." 

Darcy's got one hand up as if to start a stern argument the second Elizabeth says, _not old enough_ , but by the end of the sentence Darcy's paused, and closed her mouth. 

"Okay," she says. "I can't argue with that one, carry on." 

"Wait," says Clint, in mock suspicion, "are _you_ old enough to drink?" Darcy rolls her eyes at him again. 

"You know considering you've actually been the emergency backup for me and my roommate at like four _different_ clubs already, it's kind of irresponsible that you're only asking that now," she says, in her best attempt at sounding serious, grownup and stern. 

And Steve hadn't known that, but he's not actually surprised: Clint honestly enjoys just going out to crowded places full of new people and making friends, he seems to be fond of Jane's ex-intern in a tormenting-a-younger-cousin way (which Steve recognizes, vaguely, from Bucky's family years ago), and honestly (and Steve doesn't blame him) also kinda gets a kick out of terrifying the kind of jerk who doesn't want to hear _no_ or care that he's bothering people. 

Clint looks at her gravely and says, "If you've somehow got the impression I'm a responsible adult - well, I'd just like to take this opportunity to recommend against becoming a detective." 

" _Most dangerous senior citizens,_ " Tony repeats, over top of them, apparently not really interested in the Clint-and-Darcy show today. "Who, if you believe the Smithsonian, were also numbered among the horrifically boring." 

And the thing is, Steve hasn't really been paying attention. Like he's heard everything, but he hasn't taken it that far in. Or at least, he's _reacting_ instead of keeping ahead, just sort of letting everyone else's chatter flow around him, taking it in but not really doing anything with it besides thinking it's funny, or not, or letting the surface thoughts in his head drift around with it while the rest of him's kind of occupied with the other thing. 

Which admittedly is probably not a great strategy when Clint's obviously already in the mood to prod at people, but whether that's true or not, Steve's _not_ on top of it enough to have taken the hint the first time Tony says _deadliest senior citizens_ , or even enough to get a word in edgewise _before_ Sam's gulping down the mouthful of beer he just took and saying, "No, no do _not_ believe the Smithsonian, not on this one. On this one, the Smithsonian is full of lies." 

He hears it, and part of Steve thinks, _wait, crap -_ and he's already grasping at, "It's not lies, and you're exaggerating - " while the rest of him tries to stop the skid and get back into the moment, back on top of this. It doesn't work _really_ well. The rest of him sort of tumbles over down the metaphorical track a while, because whatever his ego thinks, the rest of him doesn't think this is important enough to yank his brain around hard. 

Or something. That's as good an explanation as any. 

"No he isn't," Bucky says, about as loud as he ever gets in company, these days. 

And at the same time that Sam demands, "I haven't even said anything yet how can I exaggerate?", so that Sam follows that up by pointing at Bucky and saying, " _Hah!_ See?" 

Steve gives Bucky a mock-dirty look, and Bucky shoots him a bland one back and shrugs the way that says, _well?_ And Steve doesn't have an answer to that one beyond what amounts to _could you not?_ (a really useful way of phrasing things, Steve has to admit) and he already knows the answer which is in this situation no, no Bucky couldn't not. Not an icicle's chance in Hell. 

"Waiiiiiit, wait," Tony says, dragging the first word out. He's sitting up now, shifting Pepper (who looks mildly annoyed by it) over to one side so he can make it clear that he is _absolutely_ interested and listening, please do go on, he's _all ears_ , "are we saying that Captain America was a juvenile delinquent?" He looks delighted. "Is that what we're saying?" 

"Oh for crying out loud," Steve says, and drags one hand down his face. Annoyingly, Tony's glee just gets a notch or too higher. 

"The guy who just said _for crying out loud_ ," Tony adds, just to be irritating, "was a juvenile delinquent?" 

Now Steve shoots _Sam_ a glare and says, "Thanks." Sam just grins at him. 

"Look, man, truth hurts," he says and Steve can only sigh. "Besides," Sam adds, virtuously, "you're the one who keeps complaining about how everyone thinks you're - " and then he stops, grinning again, because Steve managed to find a throw pillow to throw at him. Sam deflects it onto Maria's lap and Maria hucks it back at Steve's face, but he catches it. 

And Steve already knows exactly how this is going to go. There's no other way it can go. In fact Natasha's already preemptively laughing at him, because she knows where it's going, too - laughing in her silent, grinning way that only shows in how her shoulders move, waiting to see it all unfold. There's no point: Steve can't stop it now, at least not without ruining just about everything. 

He tries anyway, or possibly because, because well - it's all a game. Really. 

Even if it is actually kinda embarrassing. 

Or maybe that's also a _because_. Damn. 

"If he was," Bucky says, answering Tony's question, nodding and gesturing at Clint with two of his fingers, right arm lying on the top of the chair-back. The kitten's come back from bothering Ringo and launches herself from the floor to his left arm, climbing up to settle on his shoulders. 

"We don't know that," Steve objects, and Bucky gives him a Look before flicking his eyes back to Clint.

"Kill anyone?" Bucky asks Clint, dryly, and Clint shrugs. 

"Not until I was eighteen, and on my own," he says. Bucky lifts his hand in a _there you go_ gesture at Steve, who rolls his eyes. 

"Firstly, neither of us killed anyone until we were in our twenties," he points out, "and secon -" and that's as far as he gets, because Tony cuts him off. 

"Nope," Tony crows. "Nooo, no-no-no, nope, _you_ ," and he jabs a finger lightly at Steve, "are splitting hairs. You only split hairs when you know it's the only way you're going to win, which means you're totally going to lose. So." His arm now settled around Pepper's waist and the other on the arm-chair arm, he leans forward and says, "How many crimes _did_ you commit?"

Steve hadn't realized Tony'd picked up the splitting hairs thing - with Bucky it's kind of like just admitting he's wrong, but really a lot of things are like that between them. Realizing Tony's paid attention enough to notice puts him a little _more_ off-balance. He tries to make himself _not_ sound defensive when he says, "None, thanks." 

"That we were arrested for," Bucky adds, mildly, and okay, the uncomfortable embarrassment is in fact off-set by the fact that he's looking pretty amused. A little. Steve supposes. Damn it. 

Offset, but still there. 

It's half indignation - there's stuff they, and particularly Bucky (because he can, and because they've had this kind of argument forever), are going to insist counts when it doesn't, just because it's funny - and it's half playing and okay half also _actual embarrassment_. And _that_ part's because a lot of the things that are gonna come up now are just _stupid_ , in hindsight, and those are absolutely the ones that Tony's going to remember and never, ever let him hear the end of. 

And yeah that makes for one-and-a-half but that's kind of appropriate given how off-balance he feels. And he's a little off-balance because just about a minute and a half ago he was thinking about something completely different, just sort of phoning it in while other people talked and watching for a convenient moment signal of a totally different kind, and now he's the centre of attention. 

And he's just going to not _look_ at Natasha right now, or he's not going to be able to sit on the impulse to say _okay no you can just shut up_ , because she's the one he can be sure is laughing at _that_ just as much as the actual subject at hand. That would be impolite. It'd also make everyone demand to know why she could shut up. There was just no winning, that way. Only way to win was not to play. 

"Look, 'no arrests' counted for him," he says, gesturing to Tony, but it doesn't fly very far, like he knew it wouldn't. 

"Yeah but we just didn't get caught; if we'd got caught, we'd've been arrested," Bucky retorts. He reaches up to pet the top of Abrikoska's head. "So by standards - " and he's half-gesturing, but Steve holds up one hand. 

"Only the stuff in New York, then," Steve objects. 

"And about half the stuff in Europe," Bucky counters, "and besides with him he just _probably_ got away with it because of blatantly ignoring the actual law for the sake of favouritism and social power and all that shit, with us we damn well know that's what it was." 

"Okay now you're just being a jerk," Steve informs him. 

And then doesn't throw anything at Tony - not even a pillow - when Tony declares, "See? He splits hairs when he knows he's going to be wrong." 

" _Besides_ ," Steve says, pretending he can ignore that, "most of that doesn't count because we at _war_ which makes it _military action_." 

"Including the graffiti," Bucky says, all over-done placid and bland, "the petty arson, the vandalism - " 

Steve objects, "I didn't vandalise," because he can't stop himself. "Gabe and Dum-Dum vandalized. I levelled things, they vandalized. Sometimes. For fun." 

"Your command, your fault," Bucky counters, predictably. Steve makes a face at him.

That one had been General Johnston's favourite, even if he'd never quite had the guts to actually say it to Phillips - though whether it was because Phillips might actually have broken his nose for him, court-martial or no court-martial, or because Johnston'd been concerned that if he got rid of Phillips _he'd_ have to take the SSR on, outright, or because they all knew it also meant _your command, your glory_ every time whatever Steve'd done that pissed people all off turned out to be a life-saver (which was most of the time) . . . well, that was anyone's guess. 

But Johnston'd _radiated_ it, often enough, and since he threw it at everyone else under the sun (whether they'd actually objected or not), everyone knew it. 

" _The point is_ ," Steve says, "like I said, war, enemy territory, they don't count." 

"Then there's all the stuff they really could've court-martialled us for, which is where the blatant favouritism comes in," Bucky goes on, unperturbed, "including commandeering seven tanks without anything that even looked like authorization if you _squinted_ , Monty and Jim both impersonating superior officers over the radio enough times that Jim's impression of Phillips was fucking _uncanny_ \- which is still your command, your fault - and cumulatively I think we spent three months AWOL at least, plus that time - "

" _None of which counts_ ," Steve insists, interrupting and ignoring Tony, and Natasha, and Clint, and maybe Jane, "given we were saving the world at the time." 

The look Thor gives him is sympathetic. At least somebody is. 

"Is he allowed to get away with that?" Bruce asks, because Tony's a bad influence. Steve rolls his eyes as Bucky shrugs and holds out his left hand, rocking it from side to side. 

"It is pretty much the reason we _didn't_ end up in front of a firing squad," he admits, more or less because he has to. Hell, they got told that outright one or two or six times, and only once - the last time - had Steve been tired, hungry, sore, worried about everyone else, and in general worn out enough to snap back that maybe if they _constantly have to ignore and disobey orders_ to save the _fucking_ world, someone should try giving them _different orders._

There'd been a lieutenant-colonel from the Canadian Engineers there at the time, since Steve'd kind of commandeered about four of them to help him figure out how the _Hell_ to get some bridges down on that specific operation, and in the silence after Steve'd finished shouting, standing nose to forehead with the colonel from High Command (because the guy was a bit shorter than Steve) and glaring, Steve'd had just enough space in his head to wonder if the man was going to actually lose the fight to keep from laughing. 

(That lieutenant-colonel had been pretty reasonable, and also one of the first officers to meet them, coming in from that mess. Corporal Thierry, one of the sappers, had preemptively met the guy with a barrage of incredibly fast, incredibly accented Quebec French that even Frenchie had trouble following, and after about five minutes of that pelting back and forth the lt-col's face had gone from thunderstorm to stoically aggravated, and while he'd still told the Commandos and Steve in particular off, it'd mostly seemed pro-forma. Steve's own superiors . . . not so much.) 

Steve figures that counts as at least one of the times _some_ of the brass really would have liked to shoot him, if they could get away with it. That never seems to end up in the history books, either. Funny, that. 

"That still leaves the stuff in New York," Natasha says conversationally, like she just happens to be pointing that out, breaking into Steve's momentary trip down memory lane by being _so very helpful_. He shoots her a glare. She smiles at him. 

Bucky reaches up to rub under the kitten's chin again and then ticks off on the fingers of his left hand, "Some petty theft, usually food or matches, sometimes picking pockets, assault - " 

"Oh come on," Steve protests. "I was under five and a half feet and I weighed less than a hundred fucking pounds soaking wet, that's fucking ridiculous." 

"Language," Natasha says, looking way, way too amused. But it does give Steve the opportunity to glare at her, ignoring everyone else's short giggles, snickers and snorts of laughter. 

"You just hush," he says, and she smiles at him. Very sweetly. 

"That doesn't make it not assault, Steve," Bucky informs him, patiently, as if there'd been no interruption, "that just makes you a _fucking idiot_ \- " 

" _Besides_ ," Steve says, still ignoring the laughter, "the other guy usually swung at me first." 

"Hit you first," Bucky corrects, still patiently. "And only usually. So that doesn't mean anything." He keeps ticking off, even though there's no point because he just starts over when he runs out of fingers. "Breaking and entering, creating a disturbance - a lot of creating a disturbance - "

"We were poor, and Irish," Steve says sourly, mostly to everyone else, and then adds because it occurs to him he needs to, "it was 1928. In our neighbourhood. You could 'create a disturbance' by blinking your eyelids in the wrong place at the wrong time. Honestly if you were really unlucky you could do it without even _being there._ " 

"Yeah and that was still what we almost got arrested for the most often," Bucky retorts, "so quit arguing, you're still wrong - then there's defacing public property, impersonating a police officer - " 

"That was _you_ ," Steve objects, because it _was_ Bucky, not him, damn it. He'd thought it was a bad idea _at the time_. " _You_ impersonated a cop, not me."

"You'd've been an accomplice," Bucky counters dismissively. "Resisting arrest - a _lot_ of that, honestly, if they'd ever managed to catch us, arson - " 

"Oh come on," Steve objects again, because it'd been a fire inside a can, and tiny, and _not_ arson. He hadn't meant it to get out of control. 

" - the other arson, twice - " 

" _That_ ," Steve says, "was an _accident_ \- " because it _had been._

Clint's silently laughing so hard he's doubled up, and Steve resists the urge to kick him. Darcy's giving them all a look that says she thinks they're a bunch of losers for finding this so funny. Elizabeth, at least, looks mildly sympathetic which is nice, and so does Thor. Steve's not even going to let himself think about how Tony looks. 

" - automobile theft - " 

"That was _your idea_ ," Steve says, glaring. "Besides, we put it back and there wasn't even a scratch. And it had _more_ gas in it when we left it. And besides that's the end of the list - "

"Nope," Bucky says. "Lying on your enlistment papers. Four times. _Felony._ Including, I wanna point out, the time that mad scientist rubber-stamped you which means _you got caught_ , like I told you you were gonna." 

Steve stares at him for a minute while Bucky looks totally calm and bland and also the kitten crawls off his shoulders and onto the back of the dining chair to head-butt him in the face.

"You have just been waiting for an opportunity to point that out that doesn't sound like you're just holding a grudge, haven't you," Steve says. He's not even sure if it's sourly or not, or if he's glaring or not, though he _is_ sure he honestly is gonna kick Clint in the shins if Clint actually falls off the couch from laughing. Or passes out. He'll be careful not to break anything. But seriously. 

"I'm just _saying_ ," Bucky replies, petting the cat. 

Steve notices that Bruce is giving him a look with his head on one side. "The thing I want to know is, how the Hell did you _not_ get caught? Either of you?" 

Steve sighs, and then realizes Darcy's handing him another beer - he hadn't actually noticed her get up to go get any. She might even look sympathetic, which he's never seen on Darcy before. 

"Thanks - " he says to her. " _He_ ran fast, and could climb basically anything," he says, pointing at Bucky, "half the time nobody'd believe I _could've_ actually done it, and both of us were good at getting the girls and ladies in our neighbourhood to let us hide somewhere until the cops went away - if for pretty different reasons." 

Bucky points back at him. "He got nuns to let him hide," he says, mildly. 

"Once," Steve replies. " _Once_. And I'm not sure that was better than getting arrested that time." He's honestly not. Sister Michael had a genius for making you _feel_ horrible about whatever it was you'd done and she'd unleashed it on him, even as she swore she wasn't going to see him go to jail an catch his death. 

"I," Tony announces, sitting back, "love everything about this. I love everyone in this suite. This has absolutely made my week." 

Steve sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. "You know _what_ , Tony," he says, and then leaves it there, while Tony grins, because they both know he's got nothing to follow it up with. 

 

Ironically, that's the moment that gives him the excuse to call it a night, and he knows the whole thing is also probably the thing that means he _needs_ to. The push over the line into risky territory. 

He kinda hates that, while knowing Bucky hates it a lot more and with way more right: the way that a genuinely good moment - and that all counted, because all of it was something _people did_ and honestly the kind of thing Bucky loved even when it wasn't Steve he was giving a hard time, or it wasn't even him giving it - could still take so much work that it would burn through everything down to the fumes, and if you weren't careful and didn't catch the right moment afterwards to get clear, end up exploding badly afterwards. 

It's kinda hit or miss. Tonight it's kinda lucky, in that Darcy declares that if they're done with that she's going to leave them all to be old losers and get ready to head out with her roommate for something the interns have organized for themselves later that night, and Steve's not the only one who takes that as a cue to say good-night. Though he suspects the Shouty Brunet/te Science Club's going to be there for a few more hours, possibly with Thor and Pepper giving up to go watch a movie in the den when the others get neck deep into esoteric mathematics. 

Bucky basically kinda fades the minute they're in the elevator, but it's not a crash and Steve can't see any signs of self-reproach, probably because it's really not obvious Steve was timing when they left by _him_ this time. Small favours. Steve pours himself a glass of water while Bucky refills Abrikoska's bowls with kibble and water and pours her some of the cat-safe milk. 

It's still tricky. There was a time Bucky'd've stayed, listened to anything anyone was talking about even if he couldn't really jump in, as long as he found the people interesting, until everyone else gave up. Now he can't do that. It's a big difference, though Steve only cares because of how obvious it is he'd still be doing it, if he could, and how it only adds to the things that are hard, and miserable, that he can't. 

Steve finds the remote for the stereo system and hits play, not remembering what he'd been listening to and not really caring either. Turns out to be a Benjamin Britten opera, the one about the kid who won the virtue contest, and Steve doesn't mind that. He picks up the tablet and goes to sit down on the couch. Knows how he's sitting is a pretty clear invitation for Bucky to join him, if he wants, and turns out he does. 

When Bucky's settled, back against Steve's ribs and Steve's arm around his waist, Steve says, "Jerk," pretending he's still sour. 

The laugh Bucky breathes is quiet, even for him, but it's genuine. And there isn't any new tension in his body that Steve can feel. "Not my fault you're easy," Bucky says, watching through half-closed eyes as Steve starts building another castle in the game he kind of half-heartedly plays, sometimes. 

"Yeah, yeah," Steve pretends to grouse, and doesn't mean it. "I'm never gonna stop hearing arson jokes from Tony now, you realize." 

"Look Steve, it is not my fault every damn time you built a fire it got outta hand," Bucky says, placidly. 

"Only three times," he points out, and Bucky snorts. 

"Yeah, cuz I made you stop building fires," he says, and Steve can't actually deny that one, so he doesn't. The cat settles in front of Bucky's hip, curled up, and if Bucky doesn't actually fall asleep for the couple hours before Steve calls it a night on their mutual behalf, he seems pretty content to half-doze with his eyes closed and that's probably just about a miracle.


End file.
